


505

by antineutrinos



Series: 1 in 24 [2]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Angst, Drabble, Gen, Introspection, Pining, Teenage AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 06:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12150369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antineutrinos/pseuds/antineutrinos
Summary: Maybe, Smith wonders, this is what love feels like.(teenage au)





	505

**Author's Note:**

> I was really tired when I wrote this lol
> 
> anyway thank you and I hope you enjoy!!

 

* * *

 

_The diagram shows a hinge joint at the elbow. Name bone A._

Smith sighs. He wasn't joking when he said he hadn't studied for this science test. He runs a hand through his hair, other hand doodling straight lines onto the exam paper.

Trott is sitting next to him, head down. His fringe is covering his eyes as he leans over his test. His pencil is scribbling down words. Smith watches him work, watches him stop for an instant to think of the answer before scribbling that down, too.

The teacher trusts them enough not to split them up for the test. She trusts nobody will copy each other, trusts that everyone is 'mature enough' and 'above that'. The thought makes Smith laugh, almost. They're anything but mature.

It's raining outside. Smith can hear the aggressive thunder of the rain, if he listens past the sounds of rustling paper and exasperated sighs.

Bone A is the humorous. Smith didn't study, but he pulled information from the rare moments he listened in class.

Humorous, ulna, radius. Carpels. Metacarpals.

He looked at Trott beside him. He could see the curve of his forearm, the faint line of his bicep through his school shirt. The sharp angle of his elbow. All of it slopes down into his wrist, bones and cartilage. Bones and cartilage. It goes as far as his fingertips, down into the whorls of his fingerprints and the half-moon nails, only to turn back round and slip back up into his elbow, his muscles, his bones.

Smith lets out a slow breath and turns back to his science test. _Ligaments and tendons are found in a hinge joint. What is the function of a tendon_?

Smith sighs, again. Ligaments and tendons. They keep him together, keep him Smith. They keep his bones from rattling in their places and stop the damp from settling down.

At the thought of Trott- at the thought of the mountains and valleys of Trott's knuckles, the slope and curve of his cheekbones- his bones scream. Shrieking and shouting static into the void. Even the ligaments and tendons can't stop his bones from rattling now- they can't stop him from falling apart at the seams in front of Trott, beside Trott, for Trott.

It's a steady white noise, creeping up into a steadier crescendo. The screaming, rattling, shaking- it becomes louder with every breath and every heartbeat. Every inch of Smith is singing, singing the words " _Chris Trott_!" over and over until the words are nothing but shapes and sounds. Waves crashing against a cliff, that's what it feels like. Waves screaming " _want_!" and " _if_ _only_!" and maybe the worst, " _never_!".

Smith sighs. If he tries hard enough, he can hear the pounding of the rain on the roof.

He picks up his pencil- _tendons connect muscle to bone. Ligaments connect bone to bone._

Oh, there is nothing Smith wouldn't give to be muscle to muscle with Trott, to feel the bones under his skin and the static where his blood should be.

Next to him, Trott sits up. He leans back in his chair. Smith gives him a sidelong glance, a look that says _you know I didn't study, right?_ It says more, too, but Trott doesn't look hard enough, doesn't read between the lines.

Trott shoots back a small smile, a quick quirk of the lips. _I know you didn't. You'll be fine. You always are._

Smith snorts. It's a cynical, mirthless thing and he regrets it before he even makes it.

Next question _. Where else in the body would you find a hinge joint?_

Smith rolls his eyes at Trott, which is an answer in itself. He thinks of the hinge joint in his elbow, his knee, wishes there was one on his brain so he could lock it closed.

Smith smiles, ignores the way his brain and body and bones are tired, _exhausted_. He flips his test over and starts on the other side.

 


End file.
